Orpheus
by Bohemia86
Summary: Missing scenes between the events in Prosperity and the return to the Batcave. Huge spoilers for 8x22: Clip Show. (One shot)


Dean slowly raised a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose before sliding his fingers higher to press against his forehead. He exhaled noisily, immediately regretting the way he had broken the fragile silence that had fallen over the hotel room in the long minute since Crowley's parting shot.

_That's your choice…my darlings. _

Dean viciously kicked the couch cushion that had come to rest near his foot

Sam didn't even flinch; his eyes darting between Sarah's lifeless body and the hex bag now surrounded by shards of broken plastic. His breathing hadn't steadied, and the inhalations were catching in his damaged lungs, the slight rattle providing a morbid soundtrack to the scene playing out around him.

A litany of curse words begged to be allowed past Dean's lips as he watched Sam's eyes begin to cloud, but he clenched his jaw against them and held his tongue. He was going to rip Crowley's fucking head off with his bare hands the second he saw him, but putting his fist through the wall wouldn't help, not when his brother was visibly descending into an infinite spiral of shock and self-loathing.

"Sam." Dean's voice cracked slightly, stretching the name into two syllables. "Sam, come on. We need to go." He gingerly stepped over the mess around him, aware that the slightest wrong move could spook Sam into regrettable action. Dean had been on the receiving end of Sam's grief-induced rage in the past, and he knew with absolute certainty that the younger Winchester was already damaged enough that hurling himself bodily at his brother might just be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Sam slowly twisted his neck so that he was looking up at Dean. "She did nothing wrong, Dean."

"I know, Sammy," Dean swallowed heavily as the endearment slipped out unbidden. His unshakeable faith in his little brother's abilities to see the tablet trials through to the end seemed paltry compared to the wave of protective instinct that threaded through his veins at the brittle quality to Sam's voice.

A clawing sense of fury was inching up his spine, igniting his blood further with every second that passed. Sam had been destroyed and stitched haphazardly back together too many times. Fuck the trials, fuck Crowley, fuck Cas and his angelic disappearing act-

Dean clenched his fist and forced his mind to stop. _Nothing else_ was important; Sam was, and always had been, his priority.

_Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back._

His father's words from oh-so-long-ago now once more forcing Dean into action. "Sammy, we have to go now. Sarah didn't deserve this. Her family didn't deserve this." _You didn't deserve this,_ he added silently as he reached down to pull his brother to his feet. "But we have to go."

Sam, in a move that both surprised and worried Dean, allowed himself to be hauled out of the room. Dean clamped his arm around his brother's shoulders and all but pushed him through the door, praying (before he kicked himself for even bothering) that Sam wouldn't turn around for a final look at the girl he'd regretted leaving behind. Final looks never did anyone any good. Just ask Orpheus.

* * *

Dean placed the burner cell on the sidewalk before bringing down his boot enough times to render the mangled electronics unidentifiable as anything useful, before scooping up the pieces and dropping them in the trash can outside Biggerson's at the edge of Prosperity. He'd called 911 as soon as they'd parked, unable to even briefly consider just leaving Sarah to be found by a hotel worker; shit, enough lives had been ruined tonight, there wasn't much sense in adding to that total.

He scooped up the two takeaway coffees he'd set down in order to ensure Sarah, or the phone, couldn't be traced back to a Winchester and made his way back to the Imapla.

Sam was still slumped in the passenger seat, his hands raised to his face in a gesture of silent entreaty to a higher power. Dean swallowed rising bile at the sight; after everything that had happened, Sam _somehow_ still had the strength to believe. But Sam couldn't rely on an absent God and his douchebag parade of underlings, Dean wasn't going to let him.

"Here," Dean said as quietly as he could, passing a paper cup to his brother as he shut the door behind him.

For a long moment Dean thought he'd have to prompt again, but Sam slowly reached out for the coffee, a weak ghost of a smile signalled his gratitude.

"Thanks," Sam nodded as he sipped at the bitter liquid.

"It's only Biggerson's," Dean quipped, knowing even as he said it that the words would fall flat.

Sam sighed. "I meant Sarah."

Dean heard the momentary pause before Sam had said Sarah's name, and gulped too quickly on his own scalding coffee.

Back when they'd first met Sarah, Dean had known that Sam was finally moving towards closure from Jess, but now? Now Sarah was breaking Sam's heart in a way that the Winchesters had never even considered. That wasn't how things were done; the bad guys died and people lived long after Sam and Dean breezed out of town. _That_ was how they worked.

_Saving people. Hunting Things. The Family Business._

_The __**Family**__ Business? _Dean resisted the urge to ask the mocking question aloud. There was no family business. Dad was dead. And Bobby. Ellen, Jo, Ash-

_Jesus_, Dean needed to stop this train of thought. But what was left of the Great Winchester Legacy? Of the Men of Letters?

A pathetic imitation of a man who didn't trust his own shadow, and a broken boy who'd been forced to take the weight of the world (and Heaven and Hell) on his shoulders too many times. And Cas, who Dean had fucking _told_ was family, had once more hightailed it away from him at the first chance he got.

"Dean, stop."

Sam's words were barely above a whisper, but they struck Dean as if they'd been yelled in his ear.

"Crowley did this," Sam continued eventually. "Not you. We're taking the son of a bitch down and we're closing Hell forever."

Dean nodded, words failing him again. He handed Sam his coffee and turned the key in the ignition. He backed the car out of the parking space and out onto the road in silence.

"Drinking in the car," Sam muttered, "you really must be feeling bad."

Dean almost laughed. "Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam whispered a few seconds later.

* * *

The urban edge of Prosperity bled into more rural Indiana, which in turn morphed into miles of nameless towns. Dean was trying not to consider the places they had been before; who else Crowley may have gotten to, who else they hadn't been able to save for a second time. He forced the needle on the speedometer to creep way beyond the speed limit as they passed by Cicero.

"You could ask Cas to check on them."

Dean was so surprised that Sam had spoken – he'd been convinced his brother would fall into a silent funk until they got back to Lebanon – that it took him longer than he was proud to admit to actually decipher the sounds Sam made into a statement that made any sense.

"Dean?"

"No, Sammy." He shook his head and kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead of him. This was partly to avoid his brother's expression, and partly because obstacles in the road had a way of surprising him recently.

"He could-"

"Jesus, Sam," Dean blew the words through his lips in exasperation. "I'm not asking _asshole airways_ to do me any favours, alright? As far as I'm concerned he's not even a part of this anymore."

Dean didn't turn his head, but he could definitely _hear_ the disapproving frown Sam was shooting at him. It was typical of Dean's life that Sam, suffering from emotional (and physical) trauma, would still clamber up onto his high horse to disapprove of Dean's treatment of the angel.

"It's Cas," Sam said eventually, an echo of his earlier words.

"Exactly," Dean replied, as if that explained everything. "I've got all my trust in you, Sammy. That's all I need to know."

It didn't stop him periodically checking the backseat in the rear view mirror as the miles ratcheted up on the long drive away from Sarah. It remained steadfastly empty all the way to Kansas, but even as they parked outside the bunker he couldn't resist a final glance as Sam sleepily clambered out of the car.

The Impala's backseat was vacant as he'd expected but he still thrust open the door with less care than usual as he exited the car with a huff of exasperation.

"Great," he muttered as he followed Sam into the Batcave, in a shittier mood now than he'd been all night. He should have followed his own advice and avoided the temptation of the final glance.

He had an awful feeling this made him Orpheus.

Dean _knew_ how that story ended. He was fucking screwed.


End file.
